True to its reputation, April unfolded in a perfectly predictable way: completely unpredictable. Everybody knows the old French saying: En avril, ne te découvre pas d’un fil. All month long, the weather was all over the map. We experienced temperatures high enough to fool us into thinking that July had arrived. We were stunned by a freaky freezing episode that lasted three full nights and pretty much wiped out vineyards and orchards all over France. In between those two extremes, we endured many days of la grisaille where a grey veil seems to envelop the whole countryside and everything looks desaturated, dormant, and dull.
Venetian lagoon, October 2019
Contrary to public perception la grisaille is not reserved to Paris or Limoges, a city that has been (affectionately?) dubbed France’s chamber pot… But, let’s face it, some places manage to impress even under the dreariest of conditions. Burano is one of them. When I need color in my day, I head out to my photo archives and zero in on October 2019.
Arriving in Burano
We left Venice on a Sunday morning and hopped on the vaporetto at Fondamente Nuove. The sun was having the hardest time piercing through the ominous clouds hanging over the lagoon. The air was cool and salty and misty: I was glad to wear a windbreaker and couldn’t help leaning outside on the small deck to fill my eyes with the shimmering beauty of the water. The Campanile di San Marco slowly disappeared from the horizon. After a 45-minute ride, we reached the island of Burano. As we approached the embarcadero, dark nuages above us seemed ready to burst and I feared the worst.
The not-so-grand canal in Burano
Like everybody else on the waterbus, we disembarked and followed a very narrow street lined with shops selling beautiful lace and not too tacky souvenirs. It led to a small canal and that’s when my eyes popped up. The juxtaposition of colors on the facades looked like the product of an exuberant child let loose with tubes of acrylic paint.
Red and green: Christmassy?
And some Pepto-Bismol pink, too
Leaving the “main” street behind, I ducked into narrow alleys leading to small squares where my colorful discoveries continued. Away from stores, restaurants, and ice cream shops, the vivid walls of local fishermen’s homes were unfolding like an endless rainbow.
Fun, fun, fun
Painting the walls of these row houses in different colors is a way to define the boundaries of each home. Supposedly, the bright colors help fishermen find their own house during foggy weather (or perhaps after a few shots of grappa?)
A touch more muted
And some pastels
Burano still feels like a true fisherman’s island: although the population of the island is decreasing, 450 fishermen are still active members of a cooperative. The bulk of their catch is sold at the Rialto fish market in Venice.
These houses sit on a tiny strip of land between the sea and the canal
Burano could not have become famous for its lace without the fishermen’s wives: their skills in making and repairing fishing nets easily translated into lacemaking. In the 15thand 16thcenturies, Burano lace was highly prized all over Europe. Then King Louis XIV ordered an import ban on Burano lace and set up la Manufacture Royale des dentelles françaises.
Not just tablecloths and napkins, my friends!
It was quite apparent that the locals had more faith in their weather than I did. While I spent the whole day expecting rain, they thought it was safe to hang their laundry to dry. Many did just that.
How many bath towels? How many people?
Perhaps Sunday is indeed laundry day in Burano. Clotheslines with pulleys were set up in front of second-story windows or in diminutive backyards. Some even stretched across small squares, from one house to the other.
Sharing a line with the neighbor across the square
Could it double as a volley ball court?
Each drying load had a story to tell about the men, women, and children who used those clothes: pants and shirts, sheets and towels. It was also a reminder that our convenient clothes dryers are still hard to find (and fit) in most European cities.
Long pants and short jeans
Who wants to count socks?
I meandered in and out of tiny streets where hanging clothes and the occasional bicycle were the only signs of life. Perhaps it was nap time for the fishermen; perhaps there was a good soccer game on TV.
Staking my territory
I like that faded blue
I finally returned to the main square and its leaning bell tower. Back to civilization, the cafés, and the shops. I saw a lot of clothes there too, but they were hanging on mannequins, behind the shop windows. Waiting for new stories to be written.
Lovely Burano even when the paint gets washed out by the salty air and the Acqua Alta
Vocabulary
En avril, ne te découvre pas d’un fil: In April, do not take off one thread (of your clothing)
La grisaille: grey skies
Le nuage: cloud
La dentelle: lace
Heading to Paris instead of Burano? My book is perfect to help you plan your trip. Or to reminisce when you can’t cross the pond… Buy a copy of Moments Parfaits in Paris: I'll mail you (from France) a signed bookmark in an envelope bearing this collectible Trésors de Notre-Dame stamp!